


To sheep other sheep no doubt appear different

by bunn



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Anduin - Freeform, Elvish concepts of time, Gen, Gondor, Trade routes, Wilderland, mortal men doomed to die
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-15
Updated: 2017-05-15
Packaged: 2018-11-01 05:22:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10915176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bunn/pseuds/bunn
Summary: A trader out of Wilderland travels down Anduin to Osgiliath, and makes a stop at Lorien.





	To sheep other sheep no doubt appear different

_“... light boats used to journey out of Wilderland down to Osgiliath, and still did so until a few years ago...” Aragorn: Fellowship of the Ring._

 

Beorn Beornsson’s great great grandfather had made the great voyage south along the Anduin to the great city of Osgiliath in the mighty realm of Gondor, and had returned, triumphant, with rare spices, silk and strange dyes from the South; enough to make a man’s fortune.

Beorn Beornsson’s great grandfather had moved to the expensive city of Dale, spent extravagantly, drunk heavily, and left very little for his son, save for the two treasures hidden for her son by his great-grandmother: first, the precious map of Anduin, showing the portage-ways, the danger points where ambush might come, and the places along the river where hidden friends might be found, and second, a scrawled note of the words to say in the strange elf-language that they spoke in Lorien, that would assure a welcome for the trader there.

Beorn Beornsson’s grandfather had moved back to Wilderland with his family, and eked out a living as a fur-trader. He always said that one day he would find the money at last to equip a ship and travel to Gondor and make their fortunes, but he never did.

Beorn Beornsson’s father almost made the great journey. But orcs came down upon the settlement one bitter winter’s night. His father and mother survived, but the precious stock of furs and amber, and the gold they had carefully sieved from the river-bed was lost. The family were unable to build up stock again, before Beorn Beornsson’s father was too old to risk the trip.

Beorn Beornsson looked upon his ship, the Golden Bear, and thought her fair indeed, with her long raking lines and shaven oars. She was a thing of beauty; flexible enough to ride the river all the way to Gondor, and light enough to carry on the portage-ways and row all the way home again with a load of treasure out of Mundberg itself.

Beorn was forty years old, an experienced man with a grizzled beard. He had brought together a fine crew of stalwart oarsmen, well-armed to defend the precious cargo, and on a spring day when the grass shone green beneath the sun and the river Anduin ran silver into the South, he launched the Golden Bear, and set off on the great adventure.

They travelled down the river for many days, guarding the boat at night, looking out for trouble.

At last, they came to Lorien the Golden, and pulled the boat in at the Naith of Lorien, between Anduin and Celebrant. Beorn greeted the elves upon the shore with his careful words of Sindarin, and was greeted in return in strangely-accented Westron. An elf upon the shore frowned at him for a moment then his face lit up in what was clearly cheerful recognition.

“Of course!” the elf said. “Beorn Beornsson! You were here a few years ago, I remember.”


End file.
